


Shameful Metaphors

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: Shameful Metaphors [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Atlas CEO Rhys, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Tales from the Borderlands, Slow Burn, Timothy Lawrence has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, adding relevant tags as i go, not borderlands 3 compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Running a company is hard work, and Rhys has some newfound respect for anyone who could manage being a CEO without going a little crazy. Still, he's trying his best and Atlas is thriving.... Regrettably, not everything is going to run quite as smoothly as his company does.The destruction of Hyperion still hangs over him, and the few other people who crawled out of the metaphorical (and literal) wreckage are still out there. It's just a matter of time before the other shoe drops, and in the meantime there's gonna be a whole lot of praying on everyone's part.
Relationships: Rhys (Borderlands) & Original Character(s), Timothy Lawrence & Original Character(s), Timothy Lawrence & Rhys, Timothy Lawrence/Rhys
Series: Shameful Metaphors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756159
Kudos: 8





	1. all the same

_ “So, as you can see, this would be an instant hit.” _

Rhys nodded along, eyes scanning the schematics on his screen, a low hum of interest punctuating the gesture ― more for Roger’s benefit than any real interest, though he  _ was _ interested in the proposed project. There were certainly  _ less _ intelligent ideas coming from his department heads, especially in recent weeks.

This one, a new shield, very closely followed the schematics of something Hyperion had been working on back when Jack was running it, though it was certainly less  _ whimsical _ than Hyperion’s idea had been and better built. Meant to last. It would take some expensive materials to create, but Rhys wasn’t one to shy away from a price tag when it came to quality materials.

The shield itself was hardy ― the tech designed to withstand point blank grenade explosions with some shield charge leftover afterwards. Rogers wasn’t kidding when he said it would be an instant hit: Rhys had seen for himself the way Pandorans could and  _ would _ buy up any and all shields he could offer that protected them from more than a couple of bullets. Point blank explosions were high up on the quality scale, especially in the eyes of Pandorans…

It would be worth the price tag Rhys would have to put on it to reimburse for the cost of mass-producing it.

But before that, he had to approve the materials to create and test a prototype. Perhaps several prototypes.

_ “I understand it’s going to be expensive to test,” _ Rogers hurried on,  _ “But I wouldn’t put it forth if I didn’t think it was worth the investment.” _

Rhys chewed his bottom lip, crunching the numbers in his head. He almost wished Vaughn was here ― but, no. Wherever Vaughn was, he was probably better off. Rhys wouldn’t be pulling him into more of his schemes.

Yes, it would be expensive to test…

But, like Rogers, he believed it was worth the investment. He would fund it out of his own paycheck, if he had to ― he was sure Rogers would, too. And between the two of them, it wouldn’t be an issue.

Still, he’d have to work it into the budget…

His ECHOeye flitted through the company finances, assessing their current experimentation budget, and he nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief when he found it was ample enough to allow the research and development of this shield. Crunching the numbers once more, he smiled.

Expensive to test and develop? Absolutely. Worth the cost? No question. If they sold just two every week at nothing but the cost of materials and manufacturing, they’d make back the entire budget before the year was out. And with the trust he’d fostered in the general public towards the quality of Atlas’ wares, he could more than afford to hike up the price a bit ― no one would question it. They trusted him enough to believe it was a reasonable price, no matter what price he slapped on it, and so far he’d yet to have a complaint. Everything was up to snuff, so there was nothing anyone could say. Not even toward the price tags.

_ “Boss?” _ Rogers probed carefully.

He smiled and dismissed all his current displays in his ECHOeye so he could focus on the display on his desk, taking in the details of the schematics again.

“Just checking the budgets, Rogers.” He assured the man, hearing his sigh of relief and trepidation. “I agree ― this would be worth the investment, and I’m willing to fund it.”

Rogers gasped, all excitement and relief.  _ “Thank you, sir!” _

Rhys laughed, straightening up at his desk, “I expect a prototype ready to test two weeks from now ― can you manage that?”

_ “Yes, sir!” _ Rogers was obviously gathering his things on the other end of the line,  _ “I’ll get the R&D folks and my team on it right away.” _

“Perfect.”

A half-second of silence, and then the call disconnected.

Sitting back and stretching, he listened to the satisfying sound of his back popping and releasing some of the tension that had built up in the last few hours. He’d been soldiering on from call to call all day; listening to proposals from department heads, reports from R&D, making trade deals with supply companies…

He hadn’t had much of a chance to get up and stretch.

It was about time for his usual quick jaunt around the facility to see how things were going on the production lines and such, and it couldn’t have been a better time for it. He was stiff and sore and altogether ready for his pseudo-workout break ― he didn’t think he’d ever been this ready for it, except maybe in the very early days of Atlas Tech., when he’d been eager every day to go out and reassure himself he had employees and things were actually getting done without his very direct involvement.

Just as he yawned and settled back in to check the clock ― forgetting for a second that he could check on his ECHOeye ―, the door to his office hissed open and his head snapped up. There was no concern, of course. He didn’t look up out of fear or anxiety.

Only two people other than himself had direct, instant access to his office without having to have security or Rhys himself allow them entry.

Only two people had that kind of clearance, and he knew that better than anyone, so it was not anxiety or fear; it couldn’t have been.

No, he looked up from eagerness, a smile spreading across his face.

“Howdy, Bossman!” Both of them crowed in their Bandit-y southern drawl, twin grins plastered onto their faces in answer to his own eager and excited grin.

“Fuse, Var,” He greeted, “It’s good to see you!”

It really  _ was _ good to see the two strange Terran immigrants again after nearly a month of absence on their part ― an absence he had felt keenly, given they were his heads of security and his personal bodyguards to boot ― because even leaving aside their duties at Atlas, they were the first two people he had ever hired, and he trusted them implicitly, along with bearing a certain kind of familial fondness for them. He’d worried for their safety the entire time they’d been gone despite knowing they were well-trained and capable of defending themselves. Seeing them back here was a relief in more ways than one, though.

They hadn’t left of their own volition, after all, hadn’t been taking time off work; Rhys had sent them away on a mission that only the two of them were really suited for.

“Good t’ see you too, Rhysie!” Fuse came to a stop a few feet away from the desk and settled into an at-ease, but still alert, pose there, “N’ good t’ be back home.”

Var continued right on past her partner, practically dancing forward to deposit an ECHOpad on his desk before whirling around and bounding back to Fuse, settling into an exact mirror of his pose. She threw him another toothy grin.

“I bet it is,” Rhys granted, then looked to the ECHO on his desk. “What’s this?”

“All the info ya wanted, Rhys’ Pieces,” Var announced, still grinning away. “All sorted n’ nice for ya.”

“I typed it,” Fuse continued before Rhys could respond to that, “Cuz we both know Var caint articulate fer shit when she’s writin’.”

Var stuck her tongue out at him, but didn’t argue the point, and Rhys had to smile. He knew all too well the trouble Var had with words once it came down to writing them ― nigh perfect spelling, grammar, and punctuation and an endless imagination that bled into a powerful story-telling skill, and yet none of that made any difference if she tried to write anything. It all abandoned her as soon as her fingers touched a keyboard, even if it wasn’t for a story. Simple work reports were the most that could be asked of her unless she recorded herself talking first and typed it up while listening to herself.

Fuse had the opposite problem ― he could write forever, but he lacked the creative spark Var had.

Much like everything else, though, the two of them made it work, and Var dictated her stories verbally while Fuse typed them up ― same could be said of work reports. Var said what made sense and what was relevant, and Fuse typed it up without questioning it at all.

Still, though, that Fuse had typed it meant it hadn’t been kept simple as he’d expected; Var had clearly had quite a lot to say about the facilities they’d visited. And the length of time that they’d been gone left something to be desired… Or  _ would _ have, if Fuse typing the report hadn’t been necessary.

Ruthlessly efficient, these two. Only gone a month and they’d managed to hit every single Atlas base on the planet and compile enough information that Var couldn’t articulate it once she sat down to write the report… Not to mention that they’d only been gone for a month and their report, when he finally picked up the ECHO to look at it, was  _ horrifyingly _ long.

… Ruthlessly efficient, in _ deed. _

He remembered now exactly why he’d hired the two of them.

“Every Atlas base?” He probed vocally while he mentally wondered at how they’d gotten so much information so quickly.

“Every single one.” The Heads of Security chimed in reply, looking very satisfied with themselves.

He spent the next several minutes totally absorbed in the file, picking out which bases to work on in the near future and which ones he would have to get to later on. All in, there were 10 other Atlas facilities on the surface of Pandora, some more well-hidden than others; Fuse and Var had indeed been to all 10 and they’d had quite a lot of detailed information.

Fuse helpfully solved Rhys’ wonders about time without ever being asked within the report itself. Listed between facilities was the amount of time it had taken to get to the facility, and within the reports of each one Fuse had listed how long they’d stayed to look around.

It all added up to about three weeks and four days, and they’d worked in a circuit that led them to a base only just under a day away from the current main facility at the very end. They would have just been arriving back a little under twenty minutes ago.

He wondered if they’d slept.

Obviously they had at  _ some _ point, but had they slept within the last day? Even within the last  _ cycle? _

90 hours was a long time to be up. He knew that personally.

They had to have slept within the last two days or so, though, because he’d  _ seen _ the duo running on empty before and it wasn’t anything like  _ this. _

He pushed the thought from his mind, for now ― he’d tell them to sleep once he’d given the report a more thorough read, because he knew telling them now was useless. They were ruthlessly efficient but they were also absolutely  _ desperate _ to have him validate the fact that they did a good job with anything but protecting Atlas. They knew they were great soldiers, good heads of Security, but they weren’t sure of much else.

He’d happily help them build up self-esteem in other places.

Perusing the report again, rather than dwelling on that, he found two facilities that were, more or less, ready to start production as soon as he was ready to start sending workers.

One, to the north, was pretty deep in the snowier parts of Pandora and would need some work to get employee housing ready, but the heating still worked and if needed there seemed to be an old bunker in the basement that could be converted into a temporary housing facility.

The other, to the west, needed no real renovations ― aside from the nearby abandoned town needing air conditioners installed in most of the buildings, that was.

But air conditioners were cheaper than building an entire housing facility, so he’d probably start with an expansion west. It also wouldn’t take much to convince some workers to move there, considering the weather and terrain weren’t much different over there than they were here.

He’d put it on the list of things to get done when he could budget it appropriately ― maybe after the release of these new shields. They were sure to be a hit, and being a hit meant  _ money. _

“Wonderful,” He said aloud as he decided this, watching both of them relax just a little at the word at the edge of his vision. “As soon as it’s in the budget I’ll start working on the facility to the west ― air conditioners are cheaper than a whole housing project.” He looked to them at last, setting down the ECHO. “This is solid work. I appreciate it.” He smiled, and they smiled back, relieved. “Now go home and sleep, you two. I bet you’re beat.”

Both laughed somewhat nervously, but they didn’t argue. Var waved at him before heading for the door and Fuse snapped a lax salute at him before following her.

Odd pair, those two.

But once they were gone, he sighed and glanced at the ECHO again. He had a lot of planning to do ― applications to consider, budgets to hash out, that sort of thing… Along with a personal visit to the western facility, some time in the near future, to make sure that nothing would stand in the way of him installing those air conditioners.

Fuse and Var would be glad for the excuse to accompany him somewhere. They always said he was a boring target to protect; stayed in the safety of the facility too much.

They also insisted they liked it that way, because that meant they didn’t have to work very hard, but he knew them. They wanted something to  _ do _ other than play Tetris on their comms. They lived for the opportunity to use their guns.

Probably for the best if the town got infested with varkids or something while he was plotting.

Still, aside from the need for funding and a personal visit, it was pretty much ready. Once he had the funding and had fixed things up, he’d be ready to send over some of his workers. And having workers there, having a second production floor, would mean he could actually start expanding the company. Working on more than just shields!

Sure, right now they also made cybernetics and weapons, but when shields were in much higher demand due to all the  _ other _ weapons companies, that was what they primarily put out. With another facility and more funding, they could afford to prioritize weapons and/or cybernetics again, and that would give them more funding which they could then use to expand again and prioritize… Something else. They might be able to start expanding toward other tech, like computers and ECHO devices, within the next couple years.

Company growth like that made him giddy.

But that  _ did _ remind him that, with expansions coming up and a higher workload coming with them, he was going to need other executives. Right now he was operating as, well,  _ all _ of the chief officers of his company. And on top of needing execs, he was going to need a freakin’  _ secretary. _

Probably a personal assistant, too.

… May as well put the ad out.

He’d have one of the off-duty security folks do it ― those guys were always eager for non-work assignments.

Standing, he stretched, popped his knuckles, wrists, and neck, and sauntered on out of his office to head down to the production floor.


	2. evolve

“Jack” hated crowds.

He always had. He’d never been able to stand them. Always got anxious when there were too many people around him.

He’d never hated them more than he hated them now, though, while being simultaneously relieved to be in the middle of one.

Crowds, on Pandora, usually meant that it was a  _ city _ and not a Bandit camp or Vault Hunter outpost. And he was relatively safe when he was in a city.

Only relatively, though.

One wrong move, even here, and he was as good as dead. “As good as” because if they found him? If they  _ saw _ him? They weren’t going to kill him. They were going to  _ torture _ him. He knew that. Even the most civilized people on this horrible rock talked about it ― how if they saw anybody with Jack’s face they’d string the bastard up by their ankles and beat them senseless. Probably hit them with a cattle prod. Never give them the mercy of death because anyone who had Jack’s face must be evil.

He didn’t shudder at the thought ― had long since lost the ability to fear that outcome. If it happened, it happened.

But as long as he was careful, it wouldn’t.

He pulled the hood of his ratty old cloak down further over his face. So far this change of clothing had kept him alive and well out of anyone’s crosshairs, but no amount of new or old threads would prevent someone from recognizing his face if they happened to see it. The absolute  _ last _ thing he needed right now was to get into a fight trying not to end up getting tortured for the rest of the foreseeable future, so he tried to keep his shoulders up to protect his neck and his hood pulled as far over his face as he could without sacrificing the ability to see where he was going.

If only Hyperion was still operating.

If only he could find one of the other doppelgängers.

If only he could just get his hands on some of that old holographic cloaking tech, get his hands on a way to not look like Jack. Something to make him look like…

Like  _ Tim. _

Not like Jack.

Like Tim again.

Poor Tim.

Poor, fragile,  _ dead _ Timmy Lawrence, who no one would ever mourn or miss. Poor dead Tim who had shared enough of a bone structure with Handsome Jack that he’d only needed maybe one or two cosmetic surgeries to make the likeness complete. Poor, dead Tim who, as far as anyone knew,  _ died _ on the operating table. Poor, dead Tim who wasted his young adulthood getting a degree that wouldn’t do him any good on this side of the galaxy and paid for it in the worst way possible.

He cursed under his breath as he ducked into an alley, then winced at the sound of Jack’s voice leaving his throat. Fuck, he needed a better disguise. He needed one of those voice modulators the other doppelgängers had had that made them sound like Jack. So that he could sound like  _ Tim. _ Or at least not sound like Jack.

The hand still holding onto his hood paused as he started to drop it, ghosting over his neck and quietly moving back to stroke over the hollow of his throat. There was an age-old cocktail of emotions at the touch ― annoyance, because Jack’s voice left him unhindered; wonder, because there wasn’t even the barest scar from the vocal cord surgery; terror, because Jack’s voice was a  _ great _ way to get himself killed for  _ real; _ resentment, because if not for his own bad decisions and Jack’s ego, he would not be in this situation at all ― and it took a lot of work to keep all of it in check. He was furious right now. Was  _ always _ furious, if he was honest, but especially right at this moment in time.

He ducked out of the alley and onto a different road, snagging a discarded, half-full bag of skag jerky as sneakily as he could, checked to be sure it wasn’t rotten, and shoved a chunk into his mouth with a grimace.

… And that was a big reason he was furious, honestly.

All that work and no money to show for it.

He was still owed  _ thousands _ , if not  _ hundreds of thousands _ of dollars by Jack… He was going to have to find a way to get his hands on that money.

He had to live on scraps he found in  _ garbage cans _ for the most part because what little money he had on him right now was better used on first aid items when he needed them. Or a new shield, since the one he’d gotten from Jack while working for him had busted a month ago.

Hadn’t been all that great of a shield anyway, but still.

It was better than nothing.

He’d just have to hope for a vending machine that he  _ wasn’t _ locked out of, like all of Marcus’.

Just as he thought that, and while his eyes were scraping over piles of junk in hopes of finding at least a  _ working _ gun in the wreckage or a discarded shield, something new and shiny caught his eye across the road.

A vending machine.

An…  _ Atlas _ vending machine?

But Atlas was  _ toast _ and no one here would  _ dream _ of buying Atlas branded items, right? But that vending machine was new, and shiny, and  _ half-empty. _

He shook himself, flagging down a nearby person and signing to them, ‘YOU SIGN?’. When they nodded in response, he pointed to the vending machine and signed, ‘WHEN? WHAT?’.

“Oh, you must be new ‘round here,” The person said, sympathetically, “That there’s an Atlas Tech. vending machine. Some new folks started up production in the old Atlas buildin’ last year and re-branded as Atlas Tech. instead ― mostly sell shields, they do. Good company.”

‘Jack’ blinked. Signed, ‘WOW.’ Looked back to the vending machine.

“If yer lookin’ for a good one for wanderin’ ― and y’look an awful lot like the wanderin’ sort, boy ― I’d go fer the one on the top left. Pricey, but worth every cent.”

Chewing his lip a moment, he nodded, then signed his thanks to the person, who just grinned and continued on their way.

He hesitated, then stepped across the street.

Surely he wouldn’t be locked out of this one?

He selected the one the person had suggested, cringed a little at the price tag, but decided it would be worth it. He needed a new shield. It was worth a little money to be able to protect himself. He swallowed, forked over the cash he had on hand, and retrieved the shield.

If the locals said it was good, he’d have to trust them.

They wouldn’t be buying Atlas goods if they weren’t at least decent, right? They were smart. Not idiots like Jack thought they all were.

He hooked it to his belt where he always put shields and prepared to walk away.

Then, on the side of the machine, he noticed a small digital pinboard. Several job openings were posted, and above that section of the pinboar was a small heading that read, “Looking for a job nearby?”. They had current openings for everything from manufacturing to the  _ actual secretary and/or Personal Assistant to the CEO. _ The other postings aside from that were simple stuff, like a general ranking of their shields depending on what you needed one for or announcements on new projects like a new blast-resistant shield that was due to be coming out sometime in the next couple of weeks now that testing had finished.

He chewed on his lip again, carefully fished out his ECHO, and linked up with the board long enough to get the secretary and PA applications.

It couldn’t be any worse than working for Jack, he imagined. And he had all of the necessary experience for either position, plus all of the skills. The only thing stopping him was his  _ face _ and his  _ voice _ so he’d just have to hope whoever interviewed him, if he got that far, would at least hear him out before trying to shoot him.

With his heart in his throat, he started walking as he began to fill out the secretary application and typed, with trepidation despite knowing Jack couldn’t touch him now, the name  _ Timothy Lawrence _ into the appropriate field.


	3. evolve

should i evolve

to tend to

these

sights?


End file.
